Tricks and Angels
by Lizzaay Wilder
Summary: Sam and Dean are told about a dangerous trickster by Castiel.


PROLOGUE

As the two brothers step into the shining black Chevrolet, the sky bleeds red and the sun begins to fall. It is only a matter of time before the Grim Reaper casts his shadows of misery and darkness across the furthest reaches of land.

They may walk for miles, but there will be always something waiting for them, something amongst the swaying branches, groaning in the constant wind. That something will have no mercy, for it's blackened heart and dangerous conscious will crave for the dark red liquid that shimmers in the moonlight. It will never be quenched or full of flesh, for it will always have the desire to hunt, to kill.

All of the creatures of the darkness have a craving for blood, a craving to satisfy their selfish needs in which harm thousands of people around them. They never stop to think of what they're doing… only how they're doing it and what it's getting them. It's getting them closer and closer to the clutches of Lucifer. He who fell from the heaven's because he would not commit to the people of Earth. His white feathers blackened by the ink of night.

Lucifer, trapped and caged in the depths of hell… all of his deadly desires will never reach the young men again, and his thirsty clutch will never get a hold on Sam Winchester.

CHAPTER ONE

"Dude," Dean's deep dialect was muffled as he chewed on a golden chicken leg.

"You're lagging."

Looking at his brother in fascinated disgust, Sam only laughed and rested his bulky arms on the car door, right hand firmly gripping the steering wheel.

"We have another two hours to get there, it's fine. We'll make it." Sam reassured, cocking his head to the side and back to the front, keeping his gaze away from the greasy bucket of chicken legs his brother was feasting on.

"Sammy, there's something I know about you that you don't. You're not a good driver."

"Oh, man, seriously? Don't try and do that, just because I have no soul doesn't mean I can't remember what I can and can't do."

Sam flinched as Dean chucked another chicken leg in his mouth, not even attempting to close his mouth as he ate like a snorting pig. "Ha," laughed Dean, and he slyly wiped his grease-covered fingers on Sam's leather jacket.

"Ah! Dude, that's gross," Sam groaned, shuffling as far away as he possibly could in his seat from Dean, jaw clenched.

"Pull over and let me drive." Dean commanded, finishing his last chicken leg and licking his fingertips.

"Ugh, no. No chance. Your fingers are covered in grease, and licking them doesn't fix that Dean."

"Awe c'mon, it's been four hours and I'm bored off my head."

Frustrated and fed up, Sam shrugged off his brother's offer and continued to drive straight forward down the endless road. "I know enough to know that I'm angry right now. I don't get tired, you do. You're a health hazard; I mean… have you _seen _you? You're basically living on junk food, you are clearly traumatized and you're hunting skills are well off. You need your beauty sleep."

Dean sighed, too tired to even bother fighting back. That much was obvious.

"Bitch," Dean said under his breath.

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

Sam chuckled and kept his eyes straight forward, ignoring the sounds of Dean's lips smacking together like a hungry lion cub. At least he could feel that. Annoyance. Everything else just seemed to be a blur and Sam hated it. But he loved it all the same. Without his soul, he wouldn't have to worry about feeling guilt after killing someone who needed to die. According to Dean, he would have felt it. At least the old Sam would.

"Dude, you really should pull over," Dean said, stiffening in his seat and squinting at something up ahead. "I think that's…"

"Hello boys,"

Sam slammed the break down, heart in his chest and eyes wide, and lurched forward in his seat. His head smashed into the steering wheel, and he felt his vision begin to blur. He didn't quite understand what had happened until his eyes came into focus and he looked in the rearview mirror.

Castiel.

Sam lifted his hand to his head and felt a small cut oozing a river of blood down the side of his face. He took a glance to Dean who was clutching the dashboard, face struck with fear and teeth clenched. There wasn't a scratch on his face, but his blond hair looked slightly ruffled.

"Dude," Dean hissed, hands still gripping the dashboard. "What the hell was that? You don't just appear like that! You were right in front of the frickin' car standing there like a zombie and decided 'oh, I think I'll just pop into the car, nothing bad will happen. It's only the most natural event for a guy to materialize in the back seat'."

Castiel's facial features showed no readable expression, instead he lowered his eyebrows and said in a flat voice; "I'm sorry. I… I guess I thought you would be used to it."

"Well, we're not." Dean said, glancing at Sam and then through the window.

Sam frowned then turned to Castiel. "What are you doing here, Castiel?"

Castiel shifted in his brown trench coat and scratched his head, messing his brown hair up and causing it to point unevenly in different directions. "I might have a possible lead on another trickster – if you're willing to have a look at it. At first I thought maybe Gabriel had come back from the dead, but it would appear not. It sounds ridiculous when you put it like that but yes, another trickster and it's nearby, Chicago in fact. This one you really need to kill, its tricking angels into believing innocent humans are demons, and I really am struggling here amongst hundreds of others."

"This sounds familiar." Dean huffed and looked ahead miserably. "Remember our friends? Ellen and Jo?"

"I'm sorry," Castiel said, looking down at his thumbs, faces contorted into a strained look of what looked like possible sadness.

"You sure as hell don't look it," Dean grumbled, opening his window and throwing the rest of his chicken legs away.

There was complete silence in the car for what seemed like forever. The only noises to be heard was the ghost like _whoosh_ of the wind outside and Dean's agitated breathing. Sam did his best to stay quiet. Soul or not, he knew this was a time where you shouldn't speak.

Cas – however – did not.

"This is awkward? Right?" Castiel asked, eyebrows pushing together in hope for approval of his comment.

"Cas, it's a moment where you shut the hell up and say nothing. Just tell us where in Chicago it is will you?" Dean grumbled, turning to face Castiel.

Castiel had gone.

"Sonofabitch."

Dean slammed the motel room door behind him and made his way over to Sam, staggering and slipping awkwardly. He finally sat on his bed, pulled his shoes off and sank into the soft bed sheets like a sloppy teenager.

Sam glanced at his brother, sighed at the sight of Dean's scruffy clothes and ruffled hair and continued to surf the Internet. All of Sam's thoughts were on the trickster and _only _the trickster. He didn't really want to know which chick Dean had innocently seduced and done _his _research with – research that probably wouldn't be of any use.

"Sammy, that chick did a hell of a load of talking… and vice versa."

Sam clenched his jaw and looked at his brother. Dean flashed a grin and then pulled out his 'busty Asian beauties' magazine from his bedside table.

"You've been drinking. We're on a job Dean," Sam huffed as he turned to face his brother, ignoring the laptop in front of him, forgetting the trickster, everything.

"And? We're allowed fun every once in a while Sam, something we haven't had in a very long time. You think this has been easy?" Dean frowned, shuffled and then continued to do his 'research'. "And since when would you care? You haven't got a soul."


End file.
